


The Armor of Destiny

by docholliday18



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docholliday18/pseuds/docholliday18
Summary: It thought it might die as it touched thehoney-colored skin for the first time. It gasped as its grooves and curves slid into perfect place over Achilles', perfectly cupping the swell of his pectorals, the ridges of his stomach, the slenderness of his waist.The armor waited patiently as Patroclus retrieved and fitted the backplate and greaves, and finally, the armor's crowning glory, the helmet, resplendent with alternating black and white horsehair.





	The Armor of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teutonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teutonic/gifts).



The Armor of Destiny

 

****

 

The smooth, divinely placed blows were what first woke the armor from its incubating slumber. The fine yet powerful blows did not hurt, nor did the purifying heat of the forge, or the sudden blistering coolness of the slack tub. No, with each cycle of heat, hammer and cooling the armor felt itself grow stronger, felt the copper and zinc of itself meld and bind, become shiny and brilliant in Hephaestus' skilled hands.

The process seemed to be endless and the armor found itself anxious to know its purpose. Certainly it was for some great event for Hephaestus' did not light and stoke his forge for anyone other then the gods. The only question lingering was if its purpose was for wisdom as a new owl for gentle Athena or for battle and blood as new greaves for bloodthirsty Ares.

Finally it found itself being drawn into the shape of a man, a beautiful, well muscled warrior of powerful yet lean make. The chest wide yet sleek, arms muscled yet fine, waist slender and legs long and well-sprung like a graceful gazelle.

The armor smiled for it knew that to protect the body of this beautiful being it was to be beautiful itself. It was content.

 

****

 

The armor watched from its alcove as the gods move about, bickering and fighting, apologizing and then making love, bringing blessings to their mortals while, at a dismissive whim, turning that blessing into horrid destruction. Fickle they were…so much like the men they ruled over. It began to tire of watching and began to wonder when it would be given to the sleek and powerful man it had been created for, eager to fulfill its purpose. To protect its wearer and, in doing so, gain glory for itself. It began to fear perhaps Hephaestus had found a flaw in his handiwork and was creating a new, more perfect set.

Bah! That was impossible, it thought.

It need not have worried. Soon, it felt the god's presence, his eyes taking in the armor's form with pride and surety.

"Here is the protection you have asked for for your son."

From behind the armor's tall and muscular creator stepped a being of such bitter anger that the armor would have flinched from her gaze were it not already pinned under the master forger's. Thetis was a beautiful goddess but the angry v of her forehead and arrogant set of her body stole what fairness might have once lurked on her form.

The stormy eyes took in the armor's smooth and ornate form and for a moment it feared the sea-nymph might reject it. But the appraising gaze soon turned back to the god of the forge, her face softening into something close of gratefulness, and nodded in approval.

"Thank you. My son will be most grateful."

Hephaestus bowed slightly to her before his large calloused palms slid about the armor, lifting it from its alcove with pride and care, and handed it to the goddess. The armor cringed as it felt Thetis' cold, wet hands upon its smooth surface; a foreign sensation after the warmth and power of the god's forge.

"May it keep your son safe. And may it bring glory to him, to you, and to the gods."

In a burst of smoke and fire the armor's maker was gone and it was alone in the hands of the angry sea-nymph. It hoped the master of the forge's words would, indeed, come to pass.

 

****

 

The cool pure waters of the Aegean were not so unlike the slack tub of Hephaestus' forge and the armor felt at ease as Thetis carried it thought the clear waters. Trepidation only surfaced once it felt the sea-nymph approach the coast and begin to call for her son.

Who would its new master, its new bearer be? Would they treat it with respect and honor or would it be thrown carelessly into a corner after a long day of training or battle? Would it be forced to sit there forgotten, dirty and stained, to watch its bearer glut himself on food and wine only to then make love to his women, grunting and rutting like a foul beast? Surely it had not been forged for such a low purpose!

The soft, wet embrace of damp sand brought it abruptly from its morbid thoughts as Thetis set it gently next to her.

"My son, Achilles," she intoned, the greeting seemingly cold for meeting one's beloved offspring.

Achilles! The armor felt a swell or pride and joy. Its faith had been rewarded.

"I have brought this armor for you," Thetis continued, "forged by the hand of Hephaestus himself."

The warlord was as beautiful and graceful as legend had told. The clean, lithe lines of his body mirrored the armor's own and it knew it had been made to perfection.

The armor shuddered as the clear eyes aligned on it and a pleased smile spread across the handsome face.

"Thank you, Mother," he whispered before those slender hands grasped the armor, the long fingers smoothing lovingly along its lines, and the armor was content.

 

****

 

The armor felt excitement well up inside of it as its new bearer slung it under his long arm and hurried back to his encampment. Achilles was fleet, his feet moving across the ground as easily as a gazelle, and the armor found it did not mind the thought of being soiled or even damaged as long as it could forever encase them.

It was not long before Achilles arrived at a small settlement and flung himself with excitement into his home.

"Patroclus!" he called, his excited voice echoing joyously from the close walls.

The armor wondered who this man Patroclus could be that the great Achilles would design to show the armor to him first before even trying it on himself.

"Achilles, how is your mother…," Patroclus' words trailing off as he beheld the glistening armor.

The man was much smaller and slighter then the armor's bearer, his dark, curl-covered head only reached to Achilles' shoulder, and his skin was smooth and dusky. But it was his eyes that made that armor catch its breath. They were large and deeply brown, now wide with astonishment as it took in the armor's form, and they gave his face a sweetness that the armor found deeply pleasing.

"From my mother," Achilles explained joyously although the armor noticed that Patroclus' beautiful eyes dimmed slightly at the mention of the sea-nymph.

"It is….beautiful. Made by Hephaestus himself?," Achilles' companion asked as he reached carefully out to touch it with his delicate hands. The armor flinched slightly as Patroclus' small hands slid gingerly along its glassy surface, his calloused fingers catching slightly on the medusa's head carved into the cuirass.

"Yes, from the god's themselves. Will you help me slip it on?" The armor noticed an undertone of erotic teasing in its bearer's voice, not unlike what it had heard from the gods while ensconced on Mount Olympus, and the renewed fear of the abandoned corner made it shudder.

Carefully the armor felt itself set aside while Patroclus took its place in its bearers arms, enfolded in the graceful limbs, and drawn sweetly into a gently powerful embrace.

The armor felt a stab of envy but it soon passed. How could it envy the sight of this Patroclus's curly head, beautiful eyes sweetly closed, resting trustingly against the graceful Achilles' shoulder?

Soon, Patroclus stepped carefully out of the slender arms, looking up into his eyes, reached gently for Achilles' clothes. The small hands deftly unclasped and slid each piece from Achilles' body and the armor watched in astonishment as its bearer's body as slowly revealed.

What was only hinted at under the garments was fully revealed as the last piece slid with a gentle rustle to the floor. Achilles was the statues in Athena's temple, Adonis on a vase, a naked runner at the Games. Sleek and powerful with bones as fine and strong as an eagle's.

The armor felt shame, shame that it would be the one to cover such beauty. It consoled itself with the knowledge that in doing so it would also protect said beauty and it found itself wanting to be damaged and muddied if only it could preserve such perfection.

The armor watched as Patroclus ran his delicate hands over his bearer's beautiful form, his eyes looking deeply into Achille's handsome face, before, with a shared smile, he drew away and reached for it.

It was time. The armor found it could not breath as Patroclus' hands again found and lifted its cuirass, holding it carefully in his grasp, and gently placed it over his bearer's muscular chest.

It thought it might die as it touched the honey-colored skin for the first time. It gasped as its grooves and curves slid into perfect place over Achilles', perfectly cupping the swell of his pectorals, the ridges of his stomach, the slenderness of his waist.

The armor waited patiently as Patroclus retrieved and fitted the backplate and greaves, and finally, the armor's crowning glory, the helmet, resplendent with alternating black and white horsehair.

It felt as one with this glorious man its joy seemingly seeping into Achilles' own form as it felt a pleased smile spread over his face.

"You look….ready for war," Patroclus whispered, his soft eyes again wide with astonishment and the armor was pleased.

But there was something in them that gave the armor pause. Worry? Sadness? How could this Patroclus be sad in this trimphant moment?

There was no reason to worry, the armor decided. It had a destiny, a great and glorious one, that it knew would change the world, the course of history even. It and Achilles were both perfectly formed and, in their perfection, what could go wrong?

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this little piece. I've always felt that Achilles' armor is a character in and of itself in both Madeline Miller's book and the Iliad itself and wanted to tell a brief story from its perspective. Although the death of Patroclus is the linchpin that both books turn on it is, in part, because of Achilles' armor that he dies to begin with. 
> 
> In the both books the armor forged by Hephaestus that Thetis gives her son is after Patroclus has died and Hector has taken the set Patroclus was wearing. However, Thetis is so deeply protective of her son that I felt she would have given him another divinely forged set prior to his leaving for Troy and this is, of course, the set in this story and, unfortunately, what Patroclus will eventually die in.


End file.
